


powerful (with a little bit of tender)

by sweetie (Marnie)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fantasy Gender Roles, Feminization, Fluff and Smut, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Praise Kink, Service Top, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex, well the heat is like. mentioned and a part of this but not really the focus idk, worldbuilding? a little bit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21569146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie/pseuds/sweetie
Summary: There’s little fanfare, when his heat finally hits. Peter goes to bed with a sore throat and wakes up feeling like he could crawl out of his skin. He strips. It helps only a little bit. He showers. It helps only a little bit more. He sends Wade a quick text (get over hrere im dyign please rbing quesadillas).Wade sends him several gasping emojis and then thumbs-ups of all different skin tones. He’s so much. Peter giggles, and then rolls around on his bed to distract himself from his brain trying to tell him that no one loves him.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 747
Collections: I'll Be In My Bunk, Only the Most Beautiful





	powerful (with a little bit of tender)

**Author's Note:**

> i kind of explore an a/b/o world where male omegas and female alphas have blended sex characteristics, if that's not your thing! but overall don't take this too seriously because it's literally just me being horny and mushy which is like my default seting

1.

Because the pre-heat hormones are killing his hard-earned brain cells and because the width of Wade’s shoulders is sinful, Peter asks if Wade will help him through his heat near the end of a routine patrol.

Wade’s hand, which had been resting on Peter’s thigh in a familiarly grounding gesture, tightens briefly. Peter’s face is flaming under his mask, but he doesn’t try to hide the little noise of longing that bubbles up in his chest.

“I’m sorry, what?” Wade asks. His mask has always been eerily animated. The whites of it are round with what looks like astonishment.

Their relationship is a new and exciting thing. Peter has shared many things with Wade he didn’t think he’d ever share with anyone else. Being with Wade makes him feel like something golden. Wanted, desired, cherished, taken care of. It makes sense to share this as well. Is that a bad thing to do? Does it make him look easy? 

Wade groans, cutting off his train of thought. “Wait, that sounded dumb as fuck. Baby boy, I’d love to help you with your heat. I’m just surprised you want me to?”

Peter punches him in the shoulder, offended on Wade’s behalf. Wade lets out a theatrical noise of complaint. It’s just enough to break the panic building in his chest. He’s unable to help a laugh as Wade cradles his shoulder with his free hand and sways back onto the roof of Peter’s apartment building. He looks silly, wiggling and complaining in his skin-tight suit.

“Don’t be surprised,” Peter says.

It’s second nature for him to lie next to Wade. They often talk for a little while after they’re done for the night. Sometimes he tries to find a taller building for them to perch on in the hopes of seeing some stars through the New York smog. Peter’s building is in no way tall enough, but here, huddled next to Wade’s perpetual warmth, he feels like he found one anyway.

“Kinda hard not to feel surprised every day with you,” Wade murmurs, voice soft in a way it often is around Peter. “you’re like Angelina and I’m Jennifer.”

“Who’s Brad in this situation?” Peter hums, snuggling close.

“Fuck if I know. Actually, that was a bad analogy, baby. They all broke up anyway.”

“I don’t ever want to break up with you.”

Wade makes a helpless little noise. He reaches for Peter’s hand, squeezes tight. Peter is obsessed with how much bigger Wade’s hand is than his.

“When, uh, when does it start?”

“Weird omega lizard brain clock says... late next week,” Peter answers.

He releases Wade’s hand so he can prop himself up on his elbow and peer down at him—take him in with appreciative eyes.

“How do you guys track that? I usually don’t know I’m going into rut until I’m hard enough to hammer nails and jacking it to the way the wind blows.” Wade laughs, copying Peter’s posture.

He pokes Peter in the side. Peter pokes him back, snorting. 

“Cramps, I guess. And being weirdly horny.”

“Ooh,” he can see that Wade’s waggling his brows beneath his mask, “that sounds fun.”

“It can be,” Peter admits, once again grateful for his mask. 

He’s built an impressive collection of toys over the years.

Wade shuffles closer, free hand coming up to Peter’s side. It spans most of his rib cage entirely, warm enough to leave Peter’s skin tingling with cold in its wake. Wade’s natural Alpha temperature, combined with his mutation working tirelessly to protect him, ensures that he rarely sleeps with many covers. Peter, who is sensitive to extreme temperatures, has loved sleeping with him during this chilly fall season. All he has to do is flop down onto or burrow beside Wade, and he’s got as much warmth as he needs.

“Baby boy, this heat will be so much more fun if you let me explore your body a little more.”

(Peter’s first time had been amazing, but he’d been weirdly shy about his body, insisting on having the lights low. Even then, he’d felt so exposed with his knees locked around Wade’s thick waist, biting restlessly into the scarred skin of his shoulder through each slow, powerful thrust. He’d come so many times he might have cried, but maybe that was just the emotional high. They’d been locked together for maybe fifteen minutes, with Wade whispering dirty promises into his ear. Wade had licked his release out of him afterward until his clit almost hurt, and then he _really_ cried. Every time after has been a similar blur of stimulus and words and heat.)

“Oh yeah?” Peter whispers, feeling some strange snarl of anticipation and shyness settle into his belly.

“Oh, yeah,” Wade whispers back, playfully secretive. Then, his voice pitching back to its usual bright lilt, he says, “You know, this is really doing it for me, by the way. I can’t believe we haven’t fucked in our suits. What the fuck?”

He launches into a rant about the merits of fucking in skin-tight suits, about how sexy it’d be to give and receive head with masks rolled halfway up. It’s both arousing and ridiculous. Peter didn’t ever think that sex could involve so much laughter, especially with an Alpha. Peter’s giggling helplessly as Wade’s outrage builds. When Peter places a hand on his chest, over his heart, Wade abruptly falls silent.

“Maybe later. Tonight I just, want to feel you? Please?”

“Can we leave the lights on?”

Peter nods jerkily.

Wade cups his cheek. “Hey. It’s not just you who’s nervous about that, okay, baby boy? Every time I take my mask off I’m half convinced you’re gonna upchuck. Please don’t punch me!” 

Peter doesn’t. He nuzzles into Wade’s neck instead, nips at where his mask will separate from his suit. The scent blockers in their suits are powerful, but Peter has no doubt that Wade’s scent will be thick and heady once he gets him out of it.

“I’m riding on your back, baby boy,” Wade announces. “You’re gonna carry me through your window because if we take the stairs, I’m gonna want to chase you and I can’t promise we’ll make it to your room.”

Peter swallows and nods, mouth dry. It’s a short swing to his window, and it takes Wade even less time to divest him of his suit. He’d love to get underneath Wade’s, but he’s also desperate and wet and nursing adrenaline from their night on the city. There’s something that feels especially naughty about being on display for a fully-clothed Wade, and he decides not to press the issue of them both being naked. Wade flips the light switch and looks his fill, tutting in disapproval when Peter’s hands rise to cover himself.

“You’re beautiful, Peter.” He says, as he approaches. 

He’s got an entire gauntlet of nicknames for Peter—when he drops the real name, he’s always serious. After taking off his mask (and here he pauses, returning Peter’s pleased grin with a wobbly smile of his own) he cups the back of Peter’s head, gently moving him so that their lips can meet in a kiss that curls his toes. Wade never seems to mind his lack of experience.

“Do you wanna ride me, sweetheart?” Wade murmurs into his mouth.

Peter moans at the idea and he can feel Wade smile against him.

“I just,” he flounders for a second, “I—what if I do it wrong?”

“You won’t. I just want to see you make yourself cum, baby boy.” Wade tells him. 

They’re arranged on Peter’s bed in short order. Wade propped up on the pillows Peter uses to nest on difficult nights (they’ll never smell the same and he’s delighted). Wade pulls his pants down just enough to free himself, thick cock bobbing up against his stomach. A knot is already forming at the base, flush. Peter eyes it greedily, but Wade gently bullies him into position, hands grabbing his hip and the back of a thigh to pull him up. He squeaks at the show of strength, but he can feel another pulse of warmth in his core. He reaches down to feel for Wade’s cock, giving it a few curious tugs as he rises up to his knees. The groan this earns him has him swallowing. 

There’s something strangely pleasant about taking Wade without prep. The stretch as his cock spears into him, textured skin running along his walls until he can feel the head brush past that spot that makes him whimper. When he can feel Wade’s knot against his lips, positioned just under his clit, Peter squirms. It feels so much deeper.

Wade presses a hand into his lower back, moves him until he has both hands on his wide chest. “It’ll be easier that way,” he explains. 

Peter can’t resist leaning down for a kiss. Wade rocks up into him with one powerful thrust, shocking a whine out of his throat. “Oh,” he babbles, “That’s nice.”

“Yeah?” Wade murmurs, laving wet kisses behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Peter says.

Settling back into position, he rises up, enjoying the stretch, and comes back down. It’s like his body’s on a livewire, with Wade’s eyes roving over him, lingering on his apple-sized breasts before making their leisurely way back up to his face. 

The rhythm he starts is tentative at first, but then he finds an angle that’s so good he could cry. Wade is as vocal as always, answering Peter’s cries with goading encouragement, groaning when Peter clamps down on him, pussy throbbing. Wade’s cock is dragging along him in all the right ways, hot and heavy, and he knows he won’t last. Not with pre-heat hormones making everything feel intense almost to the point of pain. Wade wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing at where precum is oozing from the slit, and he lets out an embarrassingly loud cry.

And Wade’s words, his groans, and low moans, are no help. He cups Peter’s breasts in his hands. They have always been small, and Peter always found them a mostly unremarkable annoyance until Wade, who adores playing with his nipples and feeling their soft weight in his hands. The heat is too much. The sweep of sandpaper skin against their hardened buds makes his eyes water, so he pauses to pull them away, whispering “Please, please, not right now, it hurts.”

“It’s okay,” Wade tells him, rubbing his flank comfortingly. 

Peter can see the strain in his face, but he takes the time to gentle Peter until his little bout of panic pauses. Embarrassing. But Wade is not angry, and Peter thinks he might go into cardiac arrest if he doesn’t come soon, so falling back into his rhythm is no great task.

Wade rests one hand on Peter’s hip, heavy like a brand, the other snaking down first to give his erection a tug, and then to feel where they’re joined—delving into Peter’s folds, stretched tight around his base, before zeroing in on his clit. He barely brushes it before Peter lets out a keening moan and shatters, hips bucking. He can feel himself contracting around Wade, and he’s central in this, thick and heavy, drawing out his pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good. You’re so good, come here.” Wade growls, tugging him down.

He pulls Peter into a messy kiss and wraps his arms around his shoulders, grip vice-like. He plants his feet and begins thrusting shallowly up into him on the tail in of his orgasm, fucking him through the contractions.

“Wade,” Peter sobs, pressing his face into Wade’s temple. 

His hands are curled into the duvet, and he’s sure he’ll rip it if he holds on any tighter.

“You were so good, fucking me like that,” Wade says hotly, his teeth worrying at Peter’s ear. “Do you think you can cum for me again? Huh? Wanna cum for me while I knot you?”

Peter would do anything for him in this moment. It’s like his world is narrowed into some frantic, shifting bubble of sensation—his chest, dragging just lightly enough against Wade’s suit that it doesn’t hurt much, the way his thighs are spread wide to accommodate Wade’s girth, the mixed scent of their arousal clogging his nose, the back of Wade’s powerful thighs against his own.

“Yes, please, anything,” Peter gasps out. 

Wade groans, “Check yourself before you wreck yourself, honey. Don’t give a man that much power.”

Peter lets out a punch drunk little laugh, joined by Wade’s darker chuckle.

“What do you need?” Wade asks, softer even through his intent movements, and Peter immediately bares his neck.

Wade bites at Peter’s scent gland—high on his neck, near the underside of his jaw—and Peter jerks in his hold, babbling senselessly at the wave of possessive contentment that rolls through him, stronger almost than the contractions that start up again.

Wade rolls Peter onto his front, his teeth still latched firmly into Peter’s skin, and his uneven thrusts trickle down into one powerful buck of his hip that sends his knot past Peter’s cunt. Peter strokes the back of his head, a purr kicking up at the feeling of Wade’s release.

“Oh, I think I’ll keep you,” Wade says. 

Peter snorts, shoving his hand into Wade’s face just to be contrary. Unsurprisingly, Wade licks his palm.

  
  


2.

Peter has the days leading up to a heat down a science. He requests leave and informs his professors and spends his free time bored to tears. He completes what feels like a mountain of classwork and still feels dissatisfied. Mr. Stark will take one whiff of him and banish him from the labs. He will masturbate and it will only help for a little bit, and he’ll feel lonely and dissatisfied. Orgasm helps—it always does—but it’s often not enough on his own. Sometimes, Peter’s too tired to make it happen quite like he wants it to, even with toys. He’s not sure how he would even start testing for it, but he suspects that the change in his body is what has made the process even more frustrating than it was before. It’s been five years since he was bitten, and every time he thinks he’s prepared, he’s wrong. Rinse, repeat.

It feels like the world is happening too intensely—sunlight is too hot but yet he feels cold, his entire music playlist just pisses him off, the ambient noises of the city once again sound like the hellish cacophony it was before he learned to focus his senses.

Wade stops by his apartment almost every day, bringing food and gifts and most importantly comfort. It’s different, now, with him. Peter is bashful about admitting it aloud, but the chasm of experience between the two of them is thrilling. Dr. Banner had once described Wade as a person who was cheerfully dedicated to causing problems on purpose. He’s loud, often goes off into tangents completely and utterly unrelated to the topic at hand, and is easily provoked to violence in the field. But he’s different with Peter, gentler, more watchful. It still confuses him that someone like Wade, who has traveled the world over and back, who has more money than he knows what to do with, could find anything interesting about Peter. 

The first time they experiment with toys, Peter ends up face down in his pillows, completely blissed out. He’s too scatterbrained to do much more than arch his hips up for ease of access, whimpering with the barest movement of Wade’s hands. There’s a vibrating plug pressed against his prostate, the buzz low but present enough to make him quake, and Wade slowly works a curved dildo that Peter had been close to giving up on right against an spot inside him that he’s sure is impossible to reach on his own. The first orgasm had come fast, and then the ones that followed built up in a swirl of pleasure-pain. Though each thrust is slow, there is a delicious amount of controlled force behind them, temporarily satisfying that animal ache that slowly builds during pre-heat days. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like me, honey.” 

Peter is filled with the brief urge to turn around and smack Wade. He’s ridiculous. It’s a delicate time for him, goddamn it. He rises up onto his elbows, planning to say just that. But then Wade brings his hand down on the curve of Peter’s ass and the only sound that leaves him is a loud whine. It doesn’t hurt—Wade has hit him harder during play fights, even—but the sound of it, the shock, the way it moves the plug _just so_. He tenses up and spirals headfirst into what must be his third or fourth orgasm of the night, each contraction feeling stronger than the last, the sheets below getting messier with his spend. Wade fucks him through it, pressing the curved head of the dildo firmly against him each time he pulls it out. Any more of this and Peter’s sure the next will be dry, at least from the front, but he always gets embarrassingly wet, pre-heat or not. These sheets might not be salvageable. 

“Wade,” He whimpers, resting his forehead on his arms. 

“I know, sweetheart.” A heavy palm is sliding covetously up and down his spine. He feels small, taken, both exposed and hidden away from the world. It’s a sweet feeling.

“I think I’m ready to stop now.”

There’s no protest. The plug is turned off and gently removed, the dildo next. Peter’s bones are made of syrup. He is coherent enough to move out of the wet spot below him, and then he curls into himself, unable to resist the strange urge to squirm, aftershocks rolling pleasantly through body. He can hear Wade rummaging around with the toys, cleaning and storing them probably, but it sounds far away. When he returns to Peter’s side, it’s his warmth that Peter feels first more than anything. The mattress dips by him and the sudden change in position has him trembling again, damp thighs rubbing slowly together, as if to hold in that low heat.

“There we go, baby boy. Feeling good?” Wade asks, running a hand briskly along his flank. 

Wade does that often, sometimes absentmindedly, sometimes with intent, and Peter’s beginning to associate it with comfort. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you’re okay for now?” 

“Yeah. Can I give you a blowjob? And then can we cuddle?” 

Wade barks a laugh. Peter’s maybe a little too loopy to be embarrassed about it, so he giggles. 

“That’s _not_ how I meant to say it. I was going to be seductive.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda havin’ a moment, here, Petey,” Wade points out, no small amount of pride in his voice. “you’re allowed to be a little stupid right now. I know that’s my job, but you gotta share sometimes.” 

When the aftershocks fade and the fuzz in his brain has settled, Wade props himself up on some pillows. Peter’s about as elegant as a newborn fawn, but Wade still looks at him like he’s something to be proud of, and that makes his chest ache just a little bit. 

Wade’s erection is heavy in Peter’s palm, always a bit intimidating to stare down when he remembers just how little he knows what to do, but the point of doing this is that he’s learning, anyway. And Wade is encouraging, comfortingly directing Peter when he hesitates. He likes the feel of a hand in his hair, resting but not tugging (though he wouldn’t object to that he is too shy to say it). Sometimes it moves to feel his length poking through Peter’s cheek, or to press his thumb into where his lips are stretched wide. He likes the weight and the taste and the headiness of it, of knowing that he’s making Wade feel good, that he’s in control of the pace. 

When Peter wraps a hand around Wade’s shaft, just above where his knot has formed, Wade groans. He moans in response, and Wade’s hips shift the tiniest bit. The thought of Wade holding him in place, fucking his mouth, has Peter moaning again. He sucks as well as he can, not so harshly that he sets off his gag reflex, and Wade lets out a low curse.

“Can I come on your face, baby boy?” Wade asks, voice strained.

Peter pulls off of him, dares to stick his tongue out so that he can swirl it where salty precum is making its lazy way out of the head. He curls one hand into the meat of Wade’s thigh, the other gripping him tight as he fists Wade’s cock.

“Please,” he says. He’ll never get used to the hoarse way his voice sounds after this.

It's fascinating to watch the way Wade’s face goes slack in his pleasure as he comes—it’s a vulnerable look that Peter doesn’t get to see often. And then hot strings of cum are hitting his face. His lips, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. It’s enough to send a shock of arousal through him again, but it’s a muted thing, not something he really needs to act on. Peter swipes at where some of it has gathered in the dip of his lips, and pops his finger into his mouth, savoring the taste. It’s not exactly pleasant, but some animal instinct is telling him he earned that, the mark of his Alpha. 

“Oh my god, come here,” Wade grunts, tugging him up. 

He’s not expecting Wade to lick his spend from Peter’s face. It’s _dirty._ Peter feels tacky but in the best possible way, and when Wade pulls him into a kiss to share the taste, he sighs lowly in satisfaction. 

“Can we do that again some time?” He croaks. 

Wade laughs at him again. Wade is always laughing at him. It rarely feels bad. Peter laughs too.

  
  


3.

“Would you wear something I bought for you, baby boy?” 

"What, like lingerie?” Peter asks, dumbly. 

It’s not the type of conversation he ever thought he’d have while curled over his desk, studying furiously for a test that he won’t be taking for another two weeks, at least. Nights like this are becoming increasingly familiar, with Wade sprawled on Peter’s bed as Peter putters about his little studio apartment getting one chore or the other done. And when he’s finished, he’ll shower and crawl on top of Wade, and they’ll talk, and then Peter will fall asleep.

“Holy fuck, that too.” Wade wheezes. “That’s not at all what I was thinking, but are you open? Taking requests? I’ve got a fucking delicatessen of ideas, spider booty.” 

Peter rubs his arm, a little shyly. “Is that, like, dumb? That that’s where my thoughts went?” 

Wade lets out a familiar croon, a sound of comfort, unfurling the knot of insecurity that tried to take root. “Baby, you know half the shit that comes out of my mouth doesn’t even make sense to me.” He grins when Peter laughs into his hand. “Seriously don’t worry about it. I’d be happy about it if you told me you wanted to grind my face into shit, or something.” 

“Wade,” Peter protests.

“Peter,” Wade copies his tone of voice, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow into a pout.

“So what did you mean?”

“I meant, like, an outfit. Just. If I asked you to.” 

“Do you wanna make me wear some booty shorts that say ‘juicy’ on the ass?” 

“You’re a genius. Maybe in the summer. No, just. Something cute. Something you wouldn’t wear every day, just so I can be your obnoxious one-man fan club. We don’t even have to go outside, I know you’re a little sensitive right now.”

Peter isn’t sure what to call the wobbly emotion that builds in his chest, but it makes him blush. “Yeah, I could do that.” 

Wade’s pleased expression is nice enough that Peter pushes his chair back, giving himself just enough room to shuffle over to the bed and curl into his Alpha’s side. He promptly hides his face behind his hands.

“Why are you getting all shy now?” Wade laughs. “You’re so silly. Look at me.” 

“Shut up, you’re like captain silly.” Peter grouses, shoving at Wade’s shoulder.

“My silly, pretty, baby,” Wade teases him, poking at his neck. 

(He _loves_ it when Wade calls him stuff like that.)

He whines, pushing his face into Wade’s collarbone, taking in his scent. “You’re so annoying.” 

“Sure am!” 

And then Wade’s hand curves around the back of Peter’s neck, and Peter melts before he can think about it. It isn’t long before he’s purring, clinging to Wade like a limpet. The rest of the night passes in a lazy tangle of limbs and blankets.

Wade brings him the outfit in a box a few days later. Peter blushes immediately when he sees it, and scurries off to the bathroom. There are soft mom jeans, distressed at the cut, a lacy black bralette and matching panties, and a sheer white blouse. Every single item feels soft and unobtrusive. Stupidly, Peter feels tears pricking his eyes. It’s a cute outfit, too, something Peter could see himself wearing maybe with Wade’s huge flannel jacket and some converse. It’s all classic omega softness with just a bit of an edge, like everyone has been toying with lately. It’s not something he’d ever considered himself cute enough to wear. He has never considered himself lovely in the way Aunt May is, all classic beauty and thick hair. 

As a child, he’d watch curiously as she put on her makeup before work, and he’d been envious of her luscious hair, so far removed from his own riotous curls. She’d insisted on shopping with him for clothes when high school started, but he’d quickly gotten frustrated, decided he was going to control his hair with setting spray, and stuck to polos and khakis and graphic tees. Aunt May is amazing, so she never pushed him. It’s an insecurity that he'd buried fairly quickly, especially after Uncle Ben had clapped him on the shoulder and told him pretty wasn’t enough to take the toaster oven apart and put it back together, but to see himself like this—precious, pretty, his brain supplies—is a lot. He tucks the blouse into the jeans and admires himself in the mirror. It’s nice. 

Wade gives him a deeply appreciative look when he emerges from the bathroom. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah,” Peter squeaks. 

“Aw, are you crying?” Wade asks, getting that pained look on his face that he makes when he’s trying really hard not to laugh. He doesn’t have hair on his eyebrows, but Peter can tell they’re climbing up his forehead. 

“No.”

“You totally are. Good cry?” 

“Mmm—yeah.”

Wade gives him a hug. Once again, those scarred hands are rubbing up and down his sides. “Thank you.”

4.

There’s little fanfare, when his heat finally hits. Peter goes to bed with a sore throat and wakes up feeling like he could crawl out of his skin. He strips. It helps only a little bit. He showers. It helps only a little bit more. He sends Wade a quick text ( _get over hrere im dyign please rbing quesadillas_ ).

Wade sends him several gasping emojis and then thumbs-ups of all different skin tones. He’s so much. Peter giggles, and then rolls around on his bed to distract himself from his brain trying to tell him that no one loves him. 

When Wade arrives, he’s in his suit. Peter holds up a hand of warning. “Take it all off or I might just kill you.” 

“Sexy,” Wade rumbles, the whites of his mask narrowing. 

Still, he takes his takeout bag full of quesadillas—and god, they’re not that great unless they’re fresh, but cheese and chocolate make up the bulk of Peter’s heat cravings—and then he strips in record time. Peter manhandles him down to the bed, takes his cock in hand, and then guides him inside, wiggling contentedly when he can feel Wade’s knot pressed against the lips of his cunt.

“Woah, tell me how you really feel,” Wade says, his hands settling questioningly on Peter’s breasts.

Peter’s head falls back on a moan, and Wade outright growls when he arches his back to push them into his hold.

He pulls Wade down for a kiss. It’s lewd, and Peter can barely catch his breath enough to stay with it as much as he’d like, and then their noses bump together, but it’s perfect. 

“Please shut up and fuck me.”

And Wade _does_. He maneuvers Peter’s legs up, up, until the backs of his knees are hooked over his wide shoulders, and fucks in deep. His textured skin brushes just right against his clit, and his cock is sandwiched between them, and Peter just reaches for a pillow and takes it, unashamed of the cries falling from his lips. The angle is perfect, Wade stretching him wide, searing, heavy. There’s this undercurrent of smugness rolling in him, underneath the pleasure, that this strong Alpha is happy to have him, is so desperate for him that he’s popped his knot already.

Peter knows he’s smart, but saying yes to Wade’s joking offer of a date and then sticking around is literally the best decision he’s made in his life. Wade is his. He thinks he’d literally fight someone to keep it that way. Wade pushes his first knot of the night inside, and then Peter’s too far gone to follow his own train of thought.

It’s a good few days. When he’s not losing his mind, they eat old quesadillas and Ghiradelli chocolates with caramel inside, and when that runs out, Wade cooks all manner of eclectic dishes. Sometimes Peter eats. Sometimes he pushes the food away just to be a brat and because he can, and mostly because he knows that Wade will clean it up and make him another one. It’s amazing. He’s mad with power. (Sometimes they don’t eat at all because another heatwave steals his attention.)

Wade eats him out on the couch. He fingers Peter until he cries, and then does it again in his ass, fingers pressing firmly over his prostate. He bends him over the kitchen counter, and then later his desk. They learn quickly to stop replacing the bedsheets, and Peter’s bedroom floor is a mess of feathers from where he’s torn his pillows up in fits of passion. Wade pushes the limits of his flexibility with aplomb. By the time it’s over, he’s deliciously sore, and covered in marks. They’ll heal fast—which is maybe a blessing, with the way MJ and Ned can zero in on what embarrasses him the most with savage precision—but he’s so pleased that they’re there at all that he spends a good amount of time looking at them. Whatever marks he leaves on Wade heal within minutes, which was both frustrating and also something that his lizard brain took as a challenge.

“You’re a monster,” Wade tells him, sounding terribly fond.

(+)

“Peter,” Gwen gasps, “you look so cute! Does this mean you’re gonna let me do your makeup now?” 

Harry, who was nose deep in a book, looks up in curiosity as Peter approaches their usual table in the dining hall. He grins, and Peter’s tempted to do an about-face and march right back to his apartment. Ned and MJ follow Harry's gaze. 

“Looking good, Peter.” Harry drawls, propping his chin into his palm.

There's a beat of silence as his friends take him in. Then they all break into a chorus of obnoxious wolf-whistles and cheers. 

“I hate you all.” 

“But somebody is _loving_ you, _hello,_ ” MJ says. “Get some, Parker.”

MJ has maybe a handful of facial expressions. Amusement looks like a raised brow and a little smirk, and it’s a lovely look on her, so Peter is not as mad as he could be.

“Please answer my question,” Gwen says, putting her hands together. She has the most intense puppy eyes.

Peter pauses. “Maybe.” 

Gwen squeals in excitement.

Ned gives him a wide-eyed look. “Dude, who _are_ you?” 

Harry whacks the table, guffawing. 

And the thing is, on anyone else it wouldn’t be a big deal. Peter has omega professors who dress much the same as he is right now—a smart yellow turtle neck, cute plaid pants, with sensible ankle boots to top it off. He’s got Wade’s denim jacket, more for the smell than the aesthetic. It’s also a declaration, however quiet, that he’s happily taken. He should have figured that doing this without dropping a confession in their group chat would lead to some ribbing.

He’ll live, though.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. When he takes it out and smiles at the texts, Ned lets out an incredulous laugh and looks to the rest of their friends as if to say, “get a load of this guy!”

_still want a picture pretty baby 😘 for my wallpaper_

_have a good day at smart boy school_

_i'll pick u up when yr done honeybunches just send me a pin_

Yeah, Peter will definitely live.

**Author's Note:**

> i had a friend read this over, but i wouldn't call this beta read by any means. if anything especially awkward pops up, it's my mistake! i'm posting this at like 2am! please point it out to me!
> 
> title is from janelle monae’s make me feel!!
> 
> peter's outfit at the end is inspired by [this](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/5FHYLy2KNgM/hqdefault.jpg) cute little number tom holland wore to a few interviews. i'm obsessed with it and i'd wear it myself if i had any money.


End file.
